


Wizard's Pupil

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3rd Age - The Stewards, General
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 12:29:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3768535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finduilas puts Faramir in Gandalf?s care</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wizard's Pupil

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

The old man bowed gravely to the lovely woman lying on the low couch. 'You summoned me, my Lady?' he questioned.

She smiled, her eyes like liquid jewels in her thin face. 'Mithrandir, your visits are so infrequent. I am happy to see you.'

The wizard allowed a warm twinkle to enter his own pale blue eyes. He worried about the translucence of her skin and the faint purplish shadows under her eyes. She gestured to a comfortable chair placed beside her and he settled down, arranging his travel-stained robes as he did.

'And I am glad to see you as well, my dear. But what need does the Lady of the Ruling Steward of Gondor have for the Grey Pilgrim?'

She hesitated and turned her gaze out her window, at the view to the south, to the broad River of Gondor, flowing away to the sea. She breathed deeply, sucking the morning air into her lungs as if she was searching for a salt-tang in the breeze. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. 'I am dying, I know this.'

Gandalf stifled the urge to dissent. They had argued this before and he did not understand why a woman who appeared to have so much to live for was evidently willing herself to die. She was intelligent and beautiful and a fair match for the Steward. The Healers could find no physical ailment, but her strength continued to decline and her health to deteriorate.

She correctly interpreted his soft sigh of exasperation. 'You think I should be strong, but I am not. I can see the red clouds to the East as well as any. I need no military training or network of Rangers to know what they portend. I do not have the courage to face that threat. Do not ask it of me; I cannot do it.'

The wizard bowed his head, carefully arranging his expression until no hint of blame remained in his eyes, until the sure knowledge of the despair that her cowardice would bring to her oldest son and to her husband was gone from his face.

He raised his eyes to hers when he was sure that he showed her nothing but compassion. 'What would you have of me, Lady?'  
  
She relaxed imperceptibly. 'I do not have Denethor's awareness, his abilities to see and understand things from afar. But I do have what every woman in Middle Earth has: love for her children. And I see them.'

Finduilas returned her gaze to the window, towards the sea. 'I know them, I know their natures. I cannot read their fates, but I see with the eyes of love where their hearts will take them.'

Gandalf did not need to ask who 'they' were. She had two sons, both strong and healthy and smart, sons to make any mother proud to witness their coming of age.

'Denethor dotes beyond all reason on Boromir,' she continued. 'He is bright and sharp, a well-honed blade for my husband to use. But he is reckless and stubborn. His courage is not tempered by wisdom and never will be. His heart is full of love, but he is heedless of the consequences of his passions.'

She turned back to Gandalf and he saw a terrible fear in her eyes. 'But, my Lady . . . ,' he objected softly, but she interrupted him.

'No, I know you see it, Ishtari. I pray that it will not be so, but I . . . fear that he will come to grief.'

'Do you ask me to protect him?' the wizard queried.

Finduilas laughed bitterly, 'If I thought if would help . . . . But no, one cannot alter the course of the sun in the sky without altering the nature of the thing. I would not have him lessened.'

'No, it is for Faramir that I beg your aid,' she said.

'Faramir? I hear that he is as smart as his brother and far more studious, even at his young age. What help does he need?'

'Do you not understand?' She twisted her hands restlessly. 'Denethor is a Númenórean; he will live to a goodly age.'

She gasped and tears leaked slowly from her brilliant eyes. 'I do not believe that Boromir will survive him.' Her voice was anguished.

'But even the Wise cannot see all ends; you cannot know that,' Gandalf protested.

'But I fear it. And I must take steps in the event that my fears come true.'

'How can I help you?' Gandalf asked resignedly.

'Denethor treats Faramir as if he is of no consequence. But already his mind always seeks to understand deeper meanings, to move to the heart of things. He loves the old stories of the First Age and of Númenor. But he does not accept what he is told without question, but he asks 'why?' He interrogates me and his father and his tutors.'

'He is far more like his father than Denethor recognizes,' Gandalf chuckled.

'But Denethor cannot see that and thus does not teach him what he needs to know to become the Steward. And if my fears for my oldest son are realized, and the menace from yonder mountain comes across the river, then Gondor will need Faramir. And Faramir must be prepared for it, because I believe that Gondor's fate will rest on him.'

'It is not to the House of Húrin that Gondor must look for its salvation.'

Finduilas gave the wizard a long, assessing look and Gandalf regretted once again that her courage could not match her intelligence.

'Yes, I know in whose hands you would place all our fates. But unlike my husband, I do not find that knowledge to be a source of bitterness, but rather of hope.'

Gandalf made no reply, neither affirming nor denying her speculation. It was not his place to speak any further on this matter.

'All I ask of you, is that you take Faramir and you answer his questions. You make certain that when the time comes, he will be able to give Gondor what it needs.'

'You are asking me to train him to take his brother's place?'

'No, that would cause him too much grief. Boromir is the sun to him. I ask only that you give his mind the knowledge that he craves. He will not need any specific training to be the Steward. If Denethor sees Boromir's strength and sharpness as a sword in his hand, then Faramir is a weapon of a different sort. More subtle and quiet, but for all that, far more dangerous. Hone him and when the time comes, loose him to the target.'

'I believe I understand you, Lady,' Gandalf said slowly. His warm eyes held hers. 'I promise that I will do as you request.'

Tension fled from her, and her face was paler, but her eyes were brighter. 'He will come to me soon, will you greet him?'

'With pleasure.'

In a few minutes a servant opened the door for the Steward's younger son. Faramir came shyly into his mother's sick room, and Gandalf saw that the boy was wary of his own presence, unsure of himself in front of a stranger. At five years of age, the boy was already tall and his eyes were serious. Finduilas raised her arms and he dashed into her embrace.

'Faramir, I want you to meet a friend of mine,' she said. 'His name is Mithrandir, and he is very wise.'

The boy raised his head to meet Gandalf's regard and the wizard was minded of a sleepy blue ocean, calm but with depths unplumbed. He felt an odd affection flood his heart and he knew that his promise to Finduilas would be no hardship.

'Hail, young knight,' the wizard said in a grave voice. 'I understand you like to hear tales about Elves.'

Faramir nodded, his eyes huge, but Gandalf saw a loneliness there that he ached to heal. He mentally cursed Finduilas as he took the small hand in his own.

His eyes were twinkling when he looked at Faramir. 'Then come with me. I know many such stories.'

As the little boy and the old man walked away together, Gandalf turned back to Finduilas one last time, and he gave her a sly wink. The gift she had entrusted to him was beyond price.


End file.
